My Story: The Delightful Children From Down The La
by niobe-10
Summary: Ever wondered about what their story is? Are they biologically Father's...or were they innocent victims of a horror flashback that is now a dark cloud of terror in their heads? Find out what I think here!


Jonathan Anthony Rancor's Story  
  
It all started when I was three. My mom and dad loved my sister and me to death. They adored us and never let anything happen to us. But, little did my and my six-month-old sister know that that night would be the last goodnight we ever said to our mom and dad. About midnight, I heard noises from the den. I was as quiet as I could be. I stood at the top of the stairwell. It was a sight I never want to think about again. The man that had murdered mom and dad saw me. I ran into my room and locked the door. My little sister began to cry. Eminently, I ran to my little sister's room. I was too late. She wasn't in her crib. That's when the door slammed shut. The murderer had my little sister. "Take me instead," I said. That was the last thing I remember about that night. When I awoke, there were three other "prisoner kids being held captive" other than my sister and me. Their names I did not know. But they were being held captive just like my sister.and me.  
  
Leah Whitney Smith's Story  
  
I was five. It was a cold night. And stormy. I will never forget that night that my mother was killed. Earlier, she and my father divorced. We were having a hard time getting by, but we were making it. That is, until that cold, stormy night.  
My mom, as usual, was on the couch watching television. I could not sleep. I kept having that feeling like I was being watched. I heard a crash through the window down stairs. I jumped. I raced down stairs to see what had happened. When I got there, my mother was dead. She had been pierce in the heart. That was when I was grabbed and blind-folded.  
When blind-fold was taken off, I was in an empty room. As time passed, more people arrived. I did not know their names, but I could tell that they, too, were terrified of the man that we later learned as Father.  
  
Jennifer Christina Rancor's Story  
  
My brother was three, but I was only six-months old. Since I was so young, I really don't remember what happened. But I do remember my mom and dad. I also remember that the mad man that we know as Father didn't like me too much. Like babies do, I cried. A lot. I'm not sure, but I think that Father's least favorite one of the five of us was me, Ginny. He has never loved me and probably never will. If we don't obey his every command (which is normally to destroy the Kids Next Door), then we get the "OR ELSE" part of the deal. I don't know why we still put up with him or why we even act like we love him. Maybe one day he will love us so that we can try to love him.  
  
Leonard Ethan Nascor's Story  
  
I remember it like it was just yesterday. The night was, as we said to Nigel, "was still young"-and so was I. I was only five and a half. My mom and dad had gone out to a movie (rated R) and I couldn't go. At six o'clock they left me with a baby-sitter. They were still gone at ten o'clock so she made me go to bed. Hours passed. No sign of my parents. The baby-sitter had to leave at midnight. I heard the door close. I could feel that chilling fear that I wasn't alone.  
At about one o'clock in the morning, I finally fell asleep. I don't know how long I had been sleeping when I woke up to a crash. I dared myself to move. It's probably mom and dad trying to get in because they had forgotten their keys, I thought. Immediately I knew that was wrong. We had earlier hidden a spare key under the Welcome mat. I heard heavy footsteps coming towards my room. The door opened. My brain said to move, but I was too scared to. "Your coming with me," he said. The next thing that I remember is being in a room with a girl and another boy. Later on the man that later told us to call him Father (or else) brought a young boy and a baby girl.  
  
Michael Dylan Main's Story  
  
I tried to forget what has happened in the past. My parents abused me, but I still loved them. My dad did drugs and my mom had just been raised this way, so thought that it was the right way. I used to wear a baseball cap to hide the marks, but soon realized that you could still see them. I dug through my closet and found a red football helmet with a white stripe going down the middle. Whenever I got to school, I put it on to hide the marks. My mom and dad were all I had. No brothers, no sisters, no relatives (that I knew), no nothing. One night I was asleep in my bed (which was in the backyard), I could just feel like I wasn't alone. I wasn't. A paper bag was tied around my head and I couldn't see anything. When it was taken off, I was in a room with one other girl. After a long waiting time two boys and one baby girl joined us. The maniac that had taken me said to call him Father (even though a: he wasn't my Father; b: I didn't want to call him that because I knew he wasn't). Even though I have tried to forget it, my past still seems to haunt me, and it probably always will. 


End file.
